"Well, my doubting friend, if you would have taken the trouble to come out to Liberty Street Baptist Church yesterday, I think you would have been convinced that I am something of a salesman after all." "I've just been told that you 'mopped' up," said Wyeth, heartily. Slim swelled perceptibly. He seated himself, crossed his legs, and resumed: "When I used to live in South Carolina, I was considered one of the best salesman in the country." "You must have been a great man in South Carolina," said Wyeth. Slim observed him a moment sharply. Presently he went on: "I would go to the camp meetings and festivals, sing a few songs, get the people warmed up with a good sermon, and then sell hundreds of song books in the end." "Wonderful!" from Sidney. "I am going to the HNRTYU convention at Timberdale Thursday, and I thought you'd like to go along," he said, artfully. "Couldn't very well do it, unless you got them to hold the convention over until next week." "You _will_ not take me seriously, regardless of my success," he complained. "Now yesterday I sold a pile of song books, and today I am sending the man his share of the money. I could do you some good with the book you are general agent for, if you would increase my commission to seventy-five cents a copy, and lower the price to a dollar." "If you wrote the publishers, they might give you the books free of charge, providing you agreed to pay the freight on arrival, and not let the railroad company come back on them later for it," soliloquized Sidney. He went to Timberdale the next day, and the office saw no more of him for a week. "When will Mr. Coleman return?" Mrs. Lautier would inquire every day. "I certainly do miss him." "He's our mascot, our jest. I miss him also," said Sidney, and they both spoke of him at some length. Mrs. Lautier was also a sociable person about the office, Sidney was coming to appreciate more each day. She was from New Orleans, and a creole. She had personality, and a way that won all who were near her. She was slender and very dark, and, although only thirty-nine, was almost white-haired, which contrasted beautifully with her dark skin. Her eyes were small and bead-like, while she was affectionate by nature. Her make-up was in keeping with the position she held as matron at one of the local Negro colleges. When she spoke, her voice struck the ear musically. She was a widow. "Why have you never remarried, Mrs. Lautier?" Wyeth ventured, one day. She colored unseen for a moment, before she answered: "Perhaps there's a reason." "What reason? You are charming--very charming, I think," said he earnestly, although he smiled. She hid her face. For a woman of her age, she was most extraordinary. "I have been told that creole people have a most frightful temper," pursued Wyeth, enjoying her manner. "Is that quite true?" "Yes," She admitted, surveying him now. "And do you happen to be endowed with such an asset, also?"